Tobias Todd
by ecmada
Summary: Whatever happens to Toby after he kills Sweeney? Read and be surprised.
1. Prologue

Hello. Basically, I am working on a novel, and I am stuck. Sweeney Todd and Toby fascinated me in both the book (A String of Pearls) and the movie, so I decided to write a really messed up fanfiction of what happens to Toby after Sweeney dies to help ease my writer's block. I never do this sort of thing; so don't be surprised if you hate it.

He is dead. The man who made my mother's life a living hell, and my own life seemingly pointless is dead. What is better is that I caused his death. I ended his reign of terror.

I flick the razor in my hands, and his blood splatters over my hand. I flinch, almost expecting his harsh evil to be like acid against my skin. But to my surprise, it is not. The lone drop is simply red water and I can see my reflection in it. I fail to see the simpleton or the idiot that everyone makes me out to be. There is a blazing determination in my eye and a sardonic smile on my lips.

Come to think of it, how dare they deem me to be stupid? Yes, my voice is childish and slow, but my mind is sharp. I knew all along about the pies and their contents. I am no fool; I smelled the black cloud that exited the house every night. It is not veal or whatever the hell Mum said it was. It was as dark and sinister as the first sin. I am no simpleton; I can read the hardest of literature- Hugo, Plato, Socrates, Dickens, Milton, and Homer. I am not blind; I saw Mum's adoration for Sweeney Todd (how I snarl when I think of his name!) and I knew of Todd's past and present.

I hate them. I hate Pirelli for making me a dog when I deserved to be a man. I hate Mum for deceiving me, deluding me into thinking that life is indeed pleasant once you find the correct people.

But I cannot hate Sweeney Todd. I cannot hate him for killing my mother and killing those people. Had he felt this senseless rage towards everyone? Had he felt that the face that the world saw was not necessarily was what the soul showed?

I study his blood and compare it to a bleeding cut that I got a few minutes ago. My blood looks the same as his. I sigh and wipe my hands on my pants. Todd's razor taunts me. It speaks to me,

_You cannot stay here. Your mother's friends will be worried when her shop does not open tomorrow._

My new friend is right. I leave the house with the razor in my hands, not even sparing my home one last glance.

I never could have been Mum's true son anyway, I realize as I trudge through the streets of London. She had a good influence on me, and she spent far more time with me than Todd ever did, but he was the authority of the house.

How I marveled over his control! How I pondered over his brooding nature, and how he managed to set the code of the house based on his ideas with very few words!

I would have been Sweeney Todd's son. Eventually. I would have had to prove myself to him. I bet he is proud of me in Hell. I chuckle once.

Toby Ragg is gone. He is with Mrs. Lovett now, baking their pies and cleaning the tables.

Tobias Todd is here, calmly slitting the throats of those who deserve far less.


	2. Homeless

**Thank you for all the positive reviews, especially . Based on your username, I can definitely tell that you will like this story. Also, I got over my writer's block, hence the reason why I took a fairly long time to update. I dislike what I wrote, so bear with me….**

The streets of London crawl with vermin that deserve something far worse than death. For a moment, I ponder if the whole world is like this. After all, there are lands that I have yet to travel, and who knows? Perhaps the government actually cares for the people's welfare, or the people have a different set of values than Londoners. I laugh at the absurdity of the notion, and I push aside a homeless man in my path.

_Where are you going? _My friend whispers to me. The voice is taunting or mocking; perhaps concerned.

"I don't know," I growl.

_You have nowhere to go._

"There is always a place." My head aches. I need gin or beer or something. That always clears my head.

_Not now. Drink something later, when you have the time and the protection._

"Protection?" I laugh once more. People are starting to stare at me, but I give them an extremely rude hand gesture that I saw Sweeney Todd give a customer behind his back. "There is no protection anywhere. I can only protect meself."

_You are thinking too negatively. Use that brain of yours. Think. How can you get people to help you?_

"Help me with what? I have no plan, I just want to f-----g kill people."

_Stop. _I do so, and I realize that I am in Bluegate Fields. The workhouse is nearby, I remember. I sigh at the sad memories. "Why did you tell me to stop here?"

_Look at them. _I glance at the people. They look the same; emaciated, internally destroyed, and insane. However, there is one group that catches my eye, and I see a few youths that look less… poverty-stricken. There are two boys- fifteen and seventeen, I think- and a girl, perhaps fourteen. The boys are brothers, they look too much alike to not be. They have red hair like Mum's, bloodlessly pale skin, and sightless blue eyes. The girl looks very different from the boys. She is tan (how does that happen in London? She must be a foreigner) and she has black hair like Mister Todd's. Her eyes are black like his also.

The youths gather around a small fire that they most likely made themselves, and they warm their hands. The girl smokes a cigar and the boys drink gin.

Gin!

I walk over to them and I ask immediately,

"Could I have some of that?"

"P--- off," says the older boy, rather rudely, but the girl holds up a finger and says in a placid voice,

"Give him the gin. You have had too much to drink all ready." Her voice is quiet and rough, like a cat's tongue, and I shiver at the authority. She reminds me so much of Mister Todd.

"Stupid girl, thinking you're the boss of me," grumbles the older boy, but he hands it to me. I gladly drink it, and I crave the burning sensation down my throat.

"Boy," says the girl to me. "Why are you carrying a razor?"

"First off, my name is Tobias Todd. Second, I stole this razor from the man I killed," I reply. I have no idea why I feel the need to boast of my deed, but once I say it, it feels like such an honor to kill Mister Todd. "Do not call me 'boy'."

"Who did you kill?" asks the younger boy curiously.

"A barber. The barber has been killing men-his customers, actually- and he killed my mother."

"I am sorry," says the older boy. "Want some more gin?"

"Yes, please."

The boys make room for me to sit down, and there is a comfortable silence. The girl does not remove her gaze from me. I find myself returning it without any unease.

"What are your names?" I ask after the gin has warmed my veins.

"Bill," says the younger boy.

"Tom," says the older boy.

"Madalena," says the girl. The girl's name has a nice quality to it. It seems to me that the name should belong to an exotic princess. "What is your story, Tobias Todd, who prefers not to be called boy."

I tell them everything. How my father left my mother at an early age, and how she grew agitated with my persistent cries and beat me on the head routinely- hence my simple sounding speech- before she sent me to the work house. I told them of Pirelli, I told them of Mum's generosity, I told them of how she irrevocably loved Mister Todd, and how he always seemed to be away even though he was just one flight of stairs away. I told them of the meat pies, I told them of his murders, and how he killed my mother. I told them how I killed him, actually, how I assisted in his suicide.

"A thrilling tale," says Bill once I am done. "I like him, Tom, can he stay?"

"How old are you, Tobias?" asks Tom.

"Twelve. I'm going to be thirteen in…" I think for a moment. "A month."

"Ah, he's old enough to be with us," dismisses Madalena. "Besides, he has a hard life. He can handle being homeless."

I give her an icy smile. "I have always been homeless. Having a home is having a place where the people that love you live."


	3. The Fog

**Thanks again for the reviews. While reading this, please do not think I am a really old fashioned druggie. I just read books where this happens to the main characters.**

After a mere week of being homeless, I find myself changing irrevocably and undeniably. The high-pitched quality in my voice has gone away, perhaps from lack of use, since I learn it truly is best for me to be seen, not heard. I recall how Sweeney Todd walked with an authoritative hunch, and I attempt to copy it. At first, I looked like a drunken fool, and Tom and Bill laughed at me incessantly for it. Madalena merely studied me and said not a word.

I steal books and newspapers from the wealthy (Come to think of it, it cannot be stealing, per say, if the objects in question are left carelessly out in the open). The newspapers bear no news of the murderous barber and the suddenly wealthy baker. In fact, things seem quite normal, or perhaps better. Queen Victoria is in good health, and the wealthy seem to be getting wealthier.

I keep my friend in my pocket at all times. When other gangs challenge our own, I slowly pull the razor out of my pocket and open it. It glints menacingly in the light and I allow myself a triumphant smile at its cleverness. The gangs find my smile disturbing, and they run away.

Now it is midnight, and Madalena has brought something to us. It is a black tar substance and I am ashamed to say that out of all the books I have read, none have introduced me to this mysterious object. I know of the best of wines, cigars, swords, guns, ships, political theories, scientific discoveries, and all that general splendor, but this, I am simply lost. It has a unique smell, an indescribable odor that once given a name; it shall be locked into my brain forever as that particular scent and nothing else.

"What is it?" asks Tom, and I am relieved that I am not the only stupid one.

"Opium," replies Madalena. She smiles and the stars make her teeth glisten. "Tobias, you are a smart lad. Have you ever read Wilkie Collin's _The Moonstone?_ "

I shake my head. She continues,

"I hear that opium is a large part of that book. A person is addicted to opium and steals things, like the precious moonstone. It is an addictive drug."

Bill laughs. "Drugs aren't allowed in books."

"Yes, they are, stupid," says Tom impatiently. "What do you do with it?"

"Smoke it." She procures four pipes from a bag that she had "stolen" the other day. "Care to try some?"

"I ain't no smoker," says Bill. "I'll drink until I am p--- drunk, but I will never smoke."

Tom laughs nervously. "I agree with little brother on this one."

"Fine. Tobias?" She looks at me with a direct look in her eye. My friend in my pocket whispers to me,

_Yes, yes, just do it. _

I find myself reaching for the pipe and a bit of opium. She prepares it for me and shows me how to smoke. I gather my wits about me and I watch Madalena take her first puff. The acuity in her face departs, leaving a dreamy, almost longing expression. She is released from any pain she has.

I need this stuff. I eagerly inhale and I am overcome with a sense of warmth spreading through out me. Like gin, but it does not stop at the belly or the chest, but it goes further than that. My veins are warm, my brain-if possible is warm-, my fingernails are warm. My comrades disappear from my sight, as does the horrors of London.

It is a fog now. A fog in the middle of a God-forsaken forest. I get to my feet and walk around in a daze. I have no memory, I have no idea who I am, and for the first time in many a year, I think that it is best to no longer know what life is truly about.

"Toby," a voice calls for me some distance away. The voice is familiar. "Toby! Where are ya, love?"

"Over here?" I reply, entirely confused now.

"Where is he?" the voice whispers to another person. It calls louder again, "Nothing is going to harm you, not while I'm around…"

Mum? I run towards the voice, but the closer I get, the farther away it goes.

A hand wraps around my neck and I hear a hoarse, ragged voice,

"Toby, look at me."

I turn to see Sweeney Todd. He is drenched in the beggar woman's blood and the grief in his eyes has yet to go away. He squeezes my throat to the point where bruises would form, and he releases me. "What are you doing here?"

"What are you doing here, you mean," I accuse. "I killed you."

"No, I let you kill me," corrects Sweeney. "Answer my question, boy; how did you get here?"

"I don't know where here f-----g is!" I snap at him. His face twitches, but he forces himself to calm. I remind myself that I am the one with the weapon, and he is powerless. The dead are powerless.

"Toby, Toby, Toby," says Sweeney, more to himself if anything, "do you hear Mrs. Lovett?"

How he says that name as if were poison! "Yes."

"You saw me kill her?"

"Yes."

"You know that you killed me, yes?"

"Yes, stupid."

"So is this real?" Sweeney looks so confused, as do I, but before I can say anything, a roaring fire filled with the people that he killed surround him. He screams once, a hoarse howling sort of noise, and he is gone.

Simply gone.

I wake up with my head on Madalena's nap the next day. Her eyes are bloodshot and she whispers,

"You had an opium nightmare."

"Really?" I ask, feigning indifference. "How can you tell?"

"You were screaming such foul things. Something about that Sweeney fellow you told us about. Something about your Mum. You said to something that was not there that you killed them." Her steady voice falters and it drops to a whisper,

"And the bruises."

"What bruises?"

"Around your neck. I think you choked yourself. I did not see anything, I was dreaming myself. Tom and Bill were watching you the whole time, heard you scream, but not one of you saw you choke yourself though."

I touch my neck and relish in the sting. I ponder over what Sweeney said,

"Is this real?"


End file.
